Like a Spike Through the Heart
by LookingForOctober
Summary: A companion piece to the Buffy episode Fool for Love. Each chapter is also complete in itself, a story/reaction to one of the scenes in the episode. The interludes take place long after the series, starting in 2018. Rated for violence similar to show. Interlude story is incomplete.
1. Chapter 1

Cornwall, 1954

"What can I say, love? The second time I was born, I was born bad. Born of blood, rage, and tears, and you know what? I wouldn't be who I am today without you. You made me possible, and I ought to thank you for that."

Cecily Addams, ninety-four years old on her last birthday, didn't say anything. She didn't even moan. Her mouth was brutally gagged with a strip torn from her dress, the wrinkled skin at the edges of her mouth was turning white, but above the gag her eyes were calm.

Spike casually backhanded her. Her cheek turned red and her nose started bleeding.

"Just look at you," Spike said derisively. "Thank you? I'm not going to thank you. You're disgusting. You're practically dead, and I don't mean that as a compliment. You're _old_."

Cecily sniffed; the blood from her nose gathered along the curve of her upper lip. Then a red drop fell to the concrete floor, barely missing the toe of her sensible shoes.

"When I think of what you used to be- It's amazing I even recognized you. Of course, you did help, running like that..." Spike smirked. "It's almost like old times, isn't it?"

Thick wool socks hid Cecily's ankles, criss-crossed by brittle leather-old harness pieces lashed her to one of the support posts of the abandoned barn.

"No, no, I take it back. In the old days, you didn't know the power you held in your hands."

Her hands were tied at her side with more leather and bulging knots. They were red and chapped and they curved into arthritic claws.

"Now you know, don't you?" Spike brushed her lip with his finger, smearing the blood. Then he leaned in and whispered. "Why aren't you afraid, old woman?"

Cecily didn't say anything. Her lips didn't even twitch around the gag. Blood dripped.

"Oh, right." Spike yanked the gag out. He had to jerk twice, her head bobbing in time. If she hadn't been tied to the post, she'd have been pulled over; she had no resistance.

"Now, tell me," Spike said. When she didn't rush into speech, he said dangerously, "If you don't, you'll wish you had."

Cecily licked her cracked lips. Her voice was breathy with age. "I'm too old for this, William. I'm not going to cry for you. I'm not going to hate. I'm not going to struggle."

"It's Spike. I left William behind a long time ago."

"Poor weak William," Cecily said with a breath of a laugh. "He thought he was good."

"I thought loads of silly things back then," Spike said harshly. "Who'd want to be good, when evil is such fun?"

"I'd-"

Spike grabbed the material on either side of the high collar of her dress and pulled. The buttons parted, exposing her mottled, leathery skin from neck to waist. He put his smooth hand on her shoulder. "Who'd want to grow old, when being young is such fun?" He started to squeeze her collar bone.

Cecily's face twisted. "I'm too old, I'm too old, William. Have mercy."

"Like you had mercy on me?" There was a crack, a breaking bone.

"So earnest..." Cecily breathed. "So cruel..." She gulped.

Spike released her and patted her shoulder. "_Now_ you're afraid," he said.

Cecily closed her eyes, her face drawn with pain. "I'm not going to struggle. I knew you'd kill me since the night you killed my fiance, the night before what was to be my wedding day."

"You remember that?" Spike was pleased. "Good work, wasn't it? You were a ravishing bride. I almost had you then, but you were clever, went to ground. Never thought we'd meet again. Never thought I'd have a chance-"

"You killed my sister's child in Devon," Cecily said sharply. "Three years later."

"What's that?"

"He was found in the woods. I saw him, he was covered in blood. He was bitten all over."

"That wasn't me, love."

"I know it was you. No one laughed when we called you William the Bloody then."

"Sounds like an accident. Wild beast. Wolf, maybe. Do you mind?" There was blood falling across her breasts. He pinned her with a hand on her broken shoulder and licked it up. Cecily couldn't even flinch.

"Always wanted to do that," he said, licking his lips.

But Cecily could still talk. Maybe she had nothing to lose. "You killed the young man from the house at the end of the lane, the one who'd been looking at me. He had fits and then one day he fell down dead."

"Who do you think I am, God? I'm flattered."

"Don't blaspheme, William. You knew he was looking at me. I saw you one night walking with him by the river."

"Wasn't me," Spike said, growing board. He began to pace.

"It was."

"Shut up." Spike looked at her, and then leaned in a forced a kiss against her wrinkled, bloody, unresisting lips. "Always wanted to do that, too," he said. "Wasn't anything like I imagined. Bloody hell, how the time flies."

He shrugged his jacket into position with a cocky flair, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a hefty metal railroad spike. "Now, pay attention, love. Know what this is?"

"I moved to Scotland, but you followed me there too," Cecily said.

"Not interested," Spike said impatiently. He waved the railroad spike to try to regain her attention. "I'm trying to torture you here, woman."

"I was living with a woman, a friend, she said she was a potential slayer and she promised to protect me, but you killed her."

"I don't care." Spike brought the railroad spike up to threaten Cecily's eye. "And neither should you. Unless you _want_..." He paused, then pulled the spike back, his lips curving into a delighted smile. "No, no, I take that back. Scotland, potential slayer. Now that _was_ me, and a neat little bit of work it was too, if I do say so myself. And I do. Never knew you were around. Should have come out and introduced yourself. We'd have had such times."

"You weren't trying to kill me? I ran..."

Spike laughed. "Angelus would love this," he said. He flipped the spike up into the air. It whirled high, rotating end over end. Cecily's eyes moved up and down, watching the arc. "Me, I'm getting bored with the life history, love. We can catch up later, meaning never. Right now, I've got a reputation to keep up-" He grabbed the spike out of the air and paused for half a second to shift it to an overhanded grip.

In that half second, Cecily let her head drop forward, the only motion available to her. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

Spike hesitated. One second, two. Three. Four. Then dropped the spike and his face turned bumpy. "Blood and tears," he said, moving in. He bit down fiercely. Cecily screamed.

A few long seconds later, he pulled back. "Sweeter than I expected," he said. Almost tenderly, he brushed a lock of gray hair back from Cecily's brow.

Cecily laughed. "I was afraid for so long I wore out fear. Is that it? Is that why I was afraid? You're not evil, you're just-"

"Do you want a monster?" Spike shouted, his face contorting into vamp face instantly. "Do you want the devil to come out to play?"

Cecily's eyes widened in the instant before Spike's fist connected with her face. Her head rocked back and hit the post with a loud thunk.

"Who's beneath who now?" Spike shouted.

Cecily's head fell forward at an unnatural angle.

Spike stopped, frozen like it was he who'd been felled by a blow to the head. Then he whirled, hearing a noise behind him.

"Poor little sparrow, she'll never sing again," Drusilla said in a singsong, entering. "You have to take care of your toys or they'll leave you."

"Dru," Spike said, not exactly welcoming. His hands were clenched into fists; with effort, he loosened them. "What are you doing here, love?"

Drusilla crossed the room at a quick glide and bent to grasp Spike's fingers, where Cecily's blood was drying. She pulled his hands to her nose. "You smell like strawberries, Spike," she said suspiciously. "Strawberries and stars, something ancient and something new. Are you hungry enough to eat the stars?"

"Only if I can share them with you, my sweet," Spike said, grasping her hands and trying to pull her close, but Dru slipped away, to hide behind the post with the dead body hanging from it.

"Haven't I been good to you, Spike? Haven't I taken care of you, and taught you how to play?"

"Of course you have, pet," Spike said, following after her with a smug anticipatory smile on his face. "And I've-"

Quick as a snake, Dru picked up the railroad spike from the floor and used it to rip through the tattered leather holding Cecily up. Spike immediately lunged, away from Dru. He caught Cecily's body before it hit the ground, his arms wrapping around her torso like they were dancing.

"See, you've left me for a corpse," Dru said. "I can smell her in you. You drank her blood without me, Spike."

"She's dead, Dru," Spike said. He couldn't keep the disgruntlement from his voice. "She was just an old woman. She didn't even taste good." He dropped the body on the ground and held out his hand to Dru. "Not worth the time it took to kill her. I like my corpses young and beautiful."

"She was someone to you," Dru said, backing away. "You touched her and you thought of sunlight."

"Did not!" Sunlight? Sunlight and the sizzle of burning flesh...

Drusilla smiled at Spike. "Oh, but you did. You wanted to be her knight in armor, but I stole you away and now you're mine."

"Close enough," Spike said. "I wanted to kill her, and I did."

"Give her to me, Spike," Drusilla said. "I'm the princess, I want the prize."

Spike hesitated, but only for a second. "She's yours, baby," he said with an expansive gesture. "Not that I have the slightest idea what you'll do with her," he muttered. "Toys..."

Drusilla arranged the body like a little girl playing with a doll, straightening the limbs and the skirt and ripping the blouse more artfully. She patted the hair into shape and folded the hands and finally, she leaned down and kissed the corpse on the mouth, where the blood was still wet.

"She tastes like ashes."

Spike took Dru's hand and pulled her up, then kicked the body. "That's why we don't eat old women. Or corpses. Come on, the night is young. You and I, we need to keep in shape. Let's find someone who can run and chase them through the night. First one to make their heart explode from sheer terror wins. What do you say, baby?"

"I'm younger than the night," Drusilla said. "I can run forever, once I get started." She stepped over the body like she was dancing a solemn dance. She took Spike's hand and drew him into the dance, pulling him away, toward the exit, where the night called with crickets and frogs.

"Spike," she said seriously.

"Yes, love?"

"Will you still love me when I'm old and grey?"

"You'll never be grey," Spike said. "Hell, you'll never be old."

"I will. As old as the stars. As old as the smell of summer and the sound of sunlight in the grass."

"I'll love you forever," Spike said. "Let's get out of here. That old woman left a bad taste in my mouth."

As they passed through the door, Dru bent and picked a flower from the bush just outside. "Don't you want to give her a flower for remembrance?"

Spike turned and looked at Dru. "She's nothing." He put the flower in Drusilla's hair.


	2. Chapter 2

Scottish highlands, 1899

"What's wrong with a little obsession? It's healthy. Keeps the blood moving." Spike said, bringing the longsword up in a picture perfect parry, and then leaping forward to attack his opponent, a burly red-headed man in a kilt. Swords clashed, and when Spike leapt back again he was bleeding, red blood in the red torchlight.

From the sidelines, Drusilla clapped her hands. "Now do I get to eat him?"

"Och, and when you said-" the swordsman protested.

"Not now, Dru, we're making progress here," Spike said.

Drusilla pouted. "You said I could have ginger for dinner, and it's almost midnight."

The swordsman attacked. "You said if I could hit you five times you'd let me go unharmed. That was five."

"Vampire here. Evil lying creature of the night," Spike reminded both of them, just before the swordsman attacked. He parried, retreated, parried again. "You were holding back," he said, surprised and annoyed.

"Just trying to survive," the swordsman said grimly. He attacked again, feinting low and whirling the blade up to hack across where Spike's head would have been if he hadn't ducked. The sword ruffled his hair, but it missed, and Spike's sword was far out of line for any attack. But attack he did, lunging forward with the hefty pommel of his sword on a line for the red-haired swordsman's temple. The swordsman tensed his jaw and retreated, his face a picture of surprise.

"There's your mistake," Spike said, stepping forward again, his grin as wide as his face, his sword a blur of menace, wielded as only a vampire could, with agility fed by strength. "Just surviving isn't living at all."

"Better than dy-"

Drusilla appeared behind the swordsman and wrapped her arms around him, pinning his arms to his side. Her face turned vampiric and she bit down. The swordsman struggled, but he had no chance against her.

Spike leapt forward, his sword coming up to threaten Drusilla, but only for a thoughtless second. Spike hesitated, his sword dropping, and in that moment Drusilla looked up, blood running down her chin. "There's plenty for both of us," she said, and went in for seconds.

"My bloodthirsty darling," Spike said, furious. "That's my only swordsmaster you're ruining!"

Drusilla pushed the staggering, barely conscious swordsman at Spike. "Your turn," she said brightly. "You'll like him, he tastes like flowers."

Spike let the swordsman fall and advanced on Dru. "How am I supposed to kill a Slayer if you keep interrupting my training?"

"You never play with me any more," Drusilla said calmly. She didn't retreat so much as one step from Spike's anger. "You only hunt swordsmasters, and then you won't share. You don't even hurt me when I beg. You don't love me any more."

Spike growled. "I'm yours love, your knight, your monster, your-"

"You were right before," Darla said to Drusilla, stepping into the torchlight. "He's simply obsessed. I know the signs. Men always have to prove themselves, it's a flaw in the design."

"He looks through me," Drusilla mourned.

"I do not! I just know what I want, and I'm going to get it."

"Someday, perhaps," Darla said, with a pretty smile and a mocking lilt. "When you're sure you're ready."

"It's a big thing, going after a Slayer."

"Oh, we know," Darla said. "Why, it might take a hundred years. Luckily, you're known for your patience."

While Spike was digesting that, Drusilla wiped her mouth daintily. "I wish Angelus were here. He always had the best plans."

"We all wish Angelus were here," Darla said.

"Speak for yourself," Spike said, swinging his sword fiercely. "We don't need no bloody Angelus. He was just holding us back. I'm just as good as Angelus any night, I found the bloody Slayer, didn't I?"

"Stumbled upon, rather," Darla said dryly.

"Followed that bloody watcher from London, didn't I, and found the girl, she's right down there whenever we want her."

"I want her now, Spike," Drusilla said. "Kill her for me now?"

"It is difficult to imagine what you could be waiting for," Darla said.

"Just waiting for-" Spike hesitated. "Just got to trick a few last tricks out of that-" He looked down, but all he saw was a bloodstain. "Hey, where'd my swordsman go?"

"Always on top of things," Darla observed. "Last I saw him, he was running in that direction." She pointed a languid arm past Drusilla.

"Doesn't matter," Spike decided. "He was a wanker anyway. He was holding me back. I don't need him, I don't need anyone. Hey Dru, are you ready? I'm going to go kill myself a Slayer."

"I'm all alone," Dru said sulkily. "I hold out my hand and all I grasp is sand."

"Hey, precious, I'm doing this for you. I'm your knight, remember. I'm your right arm."

"I ask for blood and you give me water."

"Children," Darla said. "You might as well indulge him," she told Drusilla. "We'll have no peace until you do. Give him your favour and let him loose."

"Then will you hurt me?" Drusilla asked Spike wistfully.

"I promise," Spike said. "I'll do anything you ask, once I've got my Slayer. Our Slayer."

Drusilla came forward and solemnly tied her handkerchief around Spike's arm. It was stained through with bloodstains old and new. "Thou art Sir Spike, my best and only knight. I give thee this, the sign of my favour, steeped in delectable wickedness. Kill her for me, Spike. Kill her and come back to me."

* * *

><p>Two young women, both wearing loose blouses and bloomer-style trousers under kilts, walked down the darkened village high street. The three quarter moon illuminated their path and cast jagged shadows in the gaps between houses. They both watched the shadows, not each other, but their footsteps fell in perfect time.<p>

One of them - the girl with the frizzy red hair-stopped. An instant later the other was in position, guarding her back. "I know you're there, you can't hide," the redhead said to the shadows, her accent rich and plummy upper class English.

"You only saw me because I wanted you to see me," Spike said, coming forward at a saunter. "Hello, loves."

"Hello vampire. Come to die?"

"Come to kill. I'm here to try my luck with the Slayer. Step aside, Watcher, and I won't hurt you."

"We're a team," the redhead said.

"Oh no, I know how this works. She's the mystic one, you're just riding on her coattails."

"We're a team." This was the dark-haired girl; her speech had a distinct local burr to it. She turned slowly, scanning every shadow. "But I've killed more vampires than she has."

"By two measly vamps!" the redhead said indignantly. "And that's not counting Watcher training, a number I only surrendered under extreme protest-"

Spike threw his sword. Both of them ducked and the sword hit the wall of the house across the way and stuck, vibrating. "No arguing, I'll kill you both and then it won't matter," he said. He grinned as his face changed to the face of a demon, and beckoned. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

"I'll hold him off, you raise the village!" the Slayer said, tugging at the sword, but it was embedded too far for her.

"You raise the village," the Watcher said crossly, facing Spike with a stake at the ready. "I'm rather busy at the moment."

"You always-"

Spike dodged the stake and rushed past the women. He wanted his sword back, after all that training, he wasn't going to abandon it. The Slayer must have loosened it for him; he pulled the sword free easily and swung around with the momentum of it, clearing the area around him and ending up by a post in the middle of the street.

"Now look what you've done." The Slayer was looking at a rope hanging by Spike's shoulder. "If you'd raised the village when I said-"

"If _you'd _just-"

"How about I raise the village?" Spike said, and tugged the rope. It fell in a coil at his feet. "It's called planning ahead," he said smugly. "Helps that you made the warning bell the most obvious thing on the street."

"We'll just have to take him ourselves," the Slayer and the Watcher said at exactly the same time, suddenly in complete accord.

"Has anyone ever told you two you're a little eerie?" Spike asked. He blocked one stake with his sword and the other with his arm.

"Never," the Slayer said, while the Watcher admitted, "Once or twice." But they attacked in concert: one feinted high and the other low, and Spike threw himself through the gap in the middle and somersaulted away before they could impale him from both sides at once, getting in a good cut at the redheaded somewhere in the arc, in a move that seemed pretty impressive as he was doing it. He'd have to remember that.

The Watcher backed away, holding her side.

"It's just you and me, Slayer," Spike said.

"_Now_ will you raise the village?" the Slayer said to the Watcher. "Start with Emily, and get her to scream, she's got a talent for-"

"Screaming," Spike said, his sword cutting toward the hand with the stake and then continuing toward the Slayer's stomach. "I like it when they scream."

"Och, and I like it when you die," the Slayer said, somehow coming up inside his guard. Spike punched her with his free hand, she rolled with the punch and tripped him. They grappled on the ground, neither able to bring weapons to bear. Then Spike saw an inch of bare flesh at the neck, and that was all it took. His fangs sank in. It was good.

Too good. A moment of distraction and the Slayer squirmed away. She scrambled out of reach and to her feet. Spike pushed himself up jauntily. The Slayer was breathing hard. Spike wasn't breathing at all, and hadn't for a long time.

"Round two," Spike said.

The Slayer didn't reply. She glanced past him, her eyes widening.

"Oh, good try. I'll give you points for-"

Someone hit him on the back of the head. Spike crumbled, vaguely aware of a face above him - was it that bloody swordsmaster? - Drusilla coming out of nowhere and standing over him, shouts in the distance. The world was spinning.

"Where is she?" he said, pushing Drusilla aside and staggering to his feet. Sheer effort and adrenaline made the world stand still. "Where'd the Slayer go?"

Drusilla pointed. It took Spike a moment to make sense of the sight he was seeing. There was a fire consuming one side of the street, and people were filing out of the burning houses, cringing and looking in all directions like they expected to be attacked as soon as they stepped outside of the sanctity of their homes. But between Spike and the scared people there was an army. They stood side by side, and each of them carried a stake and a cross. The Slayer stood at the front, with a stake in each hand.

"Now _this_ is living!" Spike shouted, and rushed the army with his sword swinging and his teeth bared. The Slayer was the first to fall.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you set the bloody village on fire. I had it under control," Spike complained. He held out his hand to Drusilla. "Me and Dru had it all under control." Drusilla fitted herself into the crook of his arm and smiled.<p>

"I like my escapes certain," Darla said. "Besides, they might have pretended to be organized, but I still had time to pick off a few of them as they came out of the houses. I need my fun too, _William._"

"It's Spike," Spike insisted. "And that was _my_ Slayer. You're bloody lucky she wasn't killed in the fire."

"There will always be more," Darla said languidly. "Besides, this wasn't a Slayer."

Spike's face fell into lines of disbelief. "Bollocks. You're just saying that because I killed her."

"No, I'm saying what everyone in that little town knew. She was a _potential_ Slayer. Not the real thing."

"What the bloody hell was she doing running a sanctuary against supernatural creatures, saying she'd keep them all safe, if she wasn't a bloody Slayer?"

"Stupid people," Darla said meaningfully, "Will believe anything."

Drusilla laughed, long and hard, so hard she had tears in her eyes when she looked up at Spike. "It wasn't a dragon at all, it was only the wind. I heard it roaring. Roaring..."

He held her close and glared at Darla. Her eyes were laughing at him. "This isn't the end," Spike said dangerously. "I'll have me a Slayer yet. Next time, _nothing's_ gonna get in my way."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note (September 9, 2012):** I rewrote Chapter 3 because it had believability issues (thanks for pointing that out, Waspeater) and to bring out the theme of the overall story a little more.

China, 1900

A Chinese man raced at full speed around a narrow corner hemmed in by high walls - and tripped, skidding across a pile of rubble. The words he spoke sounded like heartfelt cursing in any language, and he couldn't manage to get up again, his ankle wouldn't support his weight. One foot and two hands propelling him, he crawled precariously over the rubble and placed his back to one of the walls. He leaned over, breathing hard.

He looked up abruptly, some sound closer than the distant gunfire grabbing his attention. His gaze swept the alley. The pile of rubble at one end. High walls. A gap where some explosion had ripped through the wall. His gaze lingered for a second, then moved along the high wall to the next corner.

Silhouetted against the white wall, a dark figure stood.

The injured man cursed again, a steady stream of invective under his breath as he fumbled for a gun. One shot, two shots. The dark figure advanced, until the moonlight illuminated the boney ridges of his face. Vampire.

Three shots. Four shots. The vampire laughed.

Five shots. The injured man's hand was shaking. The vampire was half way down the alley, and another two had rounded the corner, following the sound of the man with the wrong weapon to kill their kind.

The right weapon emerged through the gap in the wall, wielded by the right Slayer. It only took one good slash, a sharp sword severing the neck: the lead vampire dissolved into dust. The Slayer turned to face the other two, her sword reaching a high guard as naturally as breathing.

They rushed her, shouting. She was cool as ice, as precise as a machine, attacking, defending. The vampires were outmatched, it was only a matter of time before her sword stole their eternity.

One of the vampire jeered, trying to distract her. Her sword took him through the eye. When the dust cloud cleared, only one vampire remained, and that vampire didn't wait to see where the Slayer's sword would strike home. She took to her heels, leaping over the pile of rubble at the near end of the street in a single bound. The Slayer pursued. They vanished around the corner.

The man with the gun started to laugh hysterically. The gun dropped from his shaking hand.

A few seconds later, the vampire reappeared, leaping over the rubble again and coming to a stop in the center of the street, head cocked like a cat listening to a rustle in the wall. The man behind her scrambled to pick up the gun again.

There was shouting and machine-gun fire coming from all directions, explosions in the distance. The vampire moved tentatively toward the far end of the street, then stopped and moved toward the gap in the wall, then stopped again. The shouting was getting closer. The vampire made a choice and ran for the far end of the street. Just before she rounded the corner, a sword took off her head.

The Slayer waited until all the dust had fallen to the ground, then, with the shadow of a satisfied smile, she sheathed her sword.

The man with the gun shouted something wordless and panic-stricken. The Slayer replied gently. The man gestured wildly at her, she shook her head. The man screamed angrily and ducked, becoming just another broken figure amidst the rubble as a group of men in uniforms rounded the corner and opened fire on another group of men who rounded the other corner and quickly retreated. Their guns poked around the corner and the street became a channel for bullets whizzing in both directions.

The Slayer was caught in the middle. She ducked, she danced, and the bullets avoid her, but that couldn't last long.

Atop the high wall, Spike twitched, torn between two impulses. He'd finally tracked down the Slayer, _the_ Slayer this time, he'd done all his research, he'd been studying her, figuring out her weaknesses... Was he going to let some _mob..._

"Not bloody likely," he muttered. "Slayer," he shouted, extending his hand. She turned, she took in the offer in a fraction of a second, and then she leapt. Spike pulled her up onto the wall beside him. Relative safety.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him: foreigner, and she sensed he was a vampire, he could see it in her eyes. But he'd just saved her. She backed up a step, balancing easily on the narrow wall, and asked him a question in rapid fire Chinese, but he shook his head. "Don't speak the lingo, don't know what I'm doing, just couldn't stand to see someone else kill my Slayer," he said. "It's a pretty little war, but it's only fun when I'm the one doing the killing here."

It was her turn to shake her head, not understanding. She raised her sword said something with a brusque nod toward the corner.

"Yeah, you go that way and I'll go this way and the next time we meet let's kill each other," Spike said with a grin. "On the other hand, why wait? Let's kill each other now." He snarled at her, the demon inside breaking through the skin of his face, then jumped off the wall into the darkened grounds of a grand mansion, lightless and abandoned. "Come and get me!"

She was poised to jump after him when the wall exploded.

-.-.-

Spike paced. Twelve steps from the ruins of the wall to the body of the Slayer, twelve steps from the body of the Slayer back to the ruins of the wall.

"Don't see anything wrong with you," he muttered at the Slayer.

"Some Slayer you are," he said on the next trip.

Once he drew back his foot, but he kicked the grass instead of her. He hadn't touched her and he wasn't going to. Not until she woke up, which should would have done hours ago if she had any consideration.

"Not like the wall fell _on_ you. Fell on me, and I don't see _me_ laying around," Spike said. "You're bloody lucky I don't kill you."

He could just imagine what Darla would say if he came back telling the story of how he'd killed the Slayer while she was lying unconscious on the ground. Might as well not kill her at all. It wouldn't prove anything, and he'd just have to start over tracking down the next Slayer.

"You'd better not be paralyzed," he told the Slayer. "I'll kill you if you're paralyzed."

Of course, he didn't have to tell Darla the truth.

"Tracked you down on the street, interrupted you in the middle of taking down three or four vampires. We fought, you put up a good fight, you died. What do you think?"

The body remained excruciatingly still. "Yeah, you're right, got to leave your body somewhere, and the streets are full of fighting. Don't need another wall coming down on me. Don't need anyone seeing me toting around a body on my night of triumph."

He paced.

"Okay, listen to this. I tracked you down in a temple. Saw one near here, a big one full of peace loving Buddhist monks. They wouldn't know how to stop us, wouldn't tell tales. We fought, you died. Simple, right?"

There was no reply. Spike sighed loudly. "Damn you, Slayer." He threw himself on the ground next to the sprawl that was the Slayer's body. "I'm ready for this, Slayer. I've been training for decades. Tracked you down. Learned everything I could about you. I've seen you training. I've seen you fight. I can take you, I know I can. I can do this right and proper, a good death all around. I just need a chance."

He leaned in closer. Was that her eyes moving, or just a shadow?

Rapid-fire, angry Chinese - close, too close - made him jerk his head up. An older Chinese woman ran toward him across the rough ground. Spike leapt up; she knelt down beside the Slayer, so frenzied that it must have been impossible for her to feel the pulse in the Slayer's neck, the pulse Spike hadn't needed to check because he could hear her heart beating.

"She's alive," he said. He smiled at the woman; finally, some amusement to go with his wait. "I think she's paralyzed, but at least she has you. Who are you?"

"You speak more slowly please," the woman said in highly accented English. "Me, English, little good."

Not a Watcher, then. Spike knelt down next to her, arranging his face in a sympathetic expression. "I. saw. her. fall. Who. are. you?"

"I am...medicine." She had a gun, and it was pointing at Spike. "You leave now."

"A nurse? Now. that's. real dedication," Spike said. He rolled his eyes, ignoring the gun. "I like to see that in a nurse, seeking out the injured."

"More slow- You _leave_-"

Not amusing enough. The one shot she got off missed him as he rushed her with vampire speed, and then he had the gun and a second later it splashed into the fish pond fifty yards away. Picking her up was almost effortless; she flailed her legs and pounded on his back with her fists as he carried her toward the ruins of the wall. He threw her into the rubble. "Now go seek out someone else. This one's mine."

The woman got up slowly, favoring her hip. She limped toward the Slayer. Spike pushed her over. She got up even more slowly, then lowered her head like she was going to ram something and tried to rush around Spike. He lazily stuck out his foot and tripped her.

"Go. Away." Spike said, leaning down to say it in her face. "You hear me? Is that slow enough for you? Go. Away. You're too old to eat, you don't look like you could heal a cat, and we don't want you here. The Slayer and I have a date just as soon as she wakes up, and you'd just be in the way."

The woman on the ground shook her head stubbornly and pointed at the Slayer. "My daughter. I help her."

"Your _daughter_?" Slayers had mothers?

"My daughter. Good girl."

"Thought that was against the rules," Spike said. "What're you doing following her around? Do you know who she is?"

"I help." The Slayer's mother glared at Spike.

"Crazy bitch. Don't you know there's a war on?" As if to emphasize his words, there was a burst of machinegun fire just a few streets over. When Spike looked back, the Slayer's mother was half way across the open ground.

"No, you're one of those mothers who doesn't know when to stop. I bloody _hate_ mothers like that." He got in front of her, between her and the Slayer. "She's mine," he snarled.

The mother's eyes widened, focusing on something behind Spike. She said something excited in Chinese. "Don't try that stupid trick-" Spike said, but even as he said it he realized that it wasn't a trick. He ducked, but not quite fast enough. The flat of the Slayer's sword hit him in the temple, and he staggered and ducked again. The next pass of the sword didn't hurt nearly as much, but there was blood - his blood - streaming across his face.

"I wasn't _ready_," he shouted. "This isn't fair. I could have killed you-"

The sword followed him everywhere he turned, and the Slayer's bloody mum was cheering her on. Spike searched for weakness, but there was no weakness in her bladework. Only a squint to her eyes suggested that maybe she was still feeling the effects of being unconscious.

Spike took a gamble and made a flying leap with all the strength and speed he had. His whole body was exposed for half a second, but the Slayer was half a second too slow, and he made it past her and barreled into the Slayer's mother. "I'll give you fair," Spike shouted, wrapping his arms around the mum and forcing her in front of him. "How do you like that?"

The Slayer and her mother exchanged words in Chinese, anguish and determination passed from one to the other.

"None of that now," Spike said. "I want you to-"

"Xui Li!" The shout carried across the grounds in a piercing tone that Spike recognized by type. The Watcher had finally arrived. He was a burly man with a fuzzy brown beard, and he had a crossbow that he pointed at Spike. The Slayer had her sword. But he could still take them all. Kill the mother, kill the watcher, and then it would just be him and the Slayer.

"Make one funny move and this woman dies," he shouted. "I want you to back away-"

A burst of gunfire from the street interrupted him. Then another, louder. Then Chinese men with guns vaulted over the ruins of the wall and started spreading through the grounds. A group of them quickly surrounded Slayer, Watcher, Vampire, and Hostage.

"I don't care who you are, I've had enough," Spike said. He took a bullet in the arm knocking over the nearest bloke, but then he was running and there was nothing that could catch him. The Slayer's mother made a good shield, even better because behind him he could hear the Slayer taking out men with guns before they could shoot.

"Oh, this is going to be good," he told the Slayer's mother. He vaulted the ruins of the wall and took off down the street, away from the fighting. "Stick with me, it's going to be bloody fantastic."

She started scolding him in Chinese.

"Everyone's a critic."

-.-.-

"Where have you been?" Darla asked. "You're bleeding, don't get it on the carpet." The unconscious woman over his shoulder was too mundane to even mention.

Spike dropped his burden in a heap on the carpet. "Fighting the Slayer," he said nonchalantly.

"I see," Darla said, and turned away, dismissing him. "Would you go find Drusilla? I have good news to share with you both."

"Aren't you going to ask how it went?"

"Spike. If it had gone well, you'd be bragging. I don't need to ask, it went badly."

Spike dropped into the armchair in front of the fire. "It was a hard fight," he said indignantly, and he almost believed it himself. "You could congratulate me for surviving."

"If you kill her, that will be the time for congratulations," Darla said. "Never mind, I'll find her myself. Come along."

Spike stared at Darla. "Don't think I can manage to get up again," he drawled. "Just have to manage without me, love."

"You're becoming so provoking," Darla said, and swept up the stairs.

"Provoking," Spike muttered. He stared at the fire.

"Provoking!" he said a few moments later. "I'll show her..."

"There's very little that _you_ could show Darla," Angelus drawled, leaning against the doorway to Darla's room.

Spike's jaw dropped - and then tensed into a knot of anger. Darla and Drusilla appeared at the top of the staircase. "Oh Angelus, you've spoiled my surprise," Darla said.

"Daddy!" Dru squealed, and bounded down the stairs.

"What's he doing here?" Spike asked Darla, ignoring Angelus and Dru.

"You should be pleased," Darla said.

"Sweet William never could stand the thought of a fair competition," Angelus said, stroking Drusilla's hair. If Drusilla had been a cat, she'd have been purring.

"I'll show you competition," Spike said. "You'll be singing a different tune after I kill myself a Slayer."

"Never happen," Angelus said.

"Will too."

"My Spikey's obsessed," Drusilla observed.

"But you both know he's all talk," Angelus said.

Drusilla and Darla looked at each other.

Darla smirked. "Be fair," she said. "Not _all _talk. He's never had a gift for words."

-.-.-

"Still recovering?" Angelus asked with mock concern, one evening as the vampires gathered in the front room of their lodgings, preparing for the night. "Let me guess, you're staying in again."

"Yeah, thought I'd stay in a torture the Slayer's mum. Want to help? I'll let you hold the knife and the poker while I'm not using them."

An expression of disdain dropped across Angelus's face immediately. "I've got better things to do," he said shortly.

"Oh, come on. I'll let you use the knife."

Angelus shook his head.

"Implement of your choice," Spike said.

Angelus shook his head again.

"Don't know what's got into you," Spike muttered.

"He's got prickles in him," Drusilla said. "They make him itch."

Angelus shook himself, exactly like he was trying to dislodge prickles, and said "I'm going out." He left in a rush.

"His superiority is slipping," Spike said to Dru, smirking. "What about you? Want to help me-"

"Do you want to know a secret?" Drusilla asked him.

"Tell me, pet."

"I have a secret," Drusilla sing-songed.

"So you said."

"I know something no one else knows."

"That's what a secret is."

"I have a secret named Eglantine and she is as cheerful as a bird and as short as the moon. She's my very best Sunday secret and she dying. I'm going to cry, Spike. In December."

"Shh, don't cry pet, December never comes," Spike said.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Drusilla said tragically.

"Why don't you bring your secret to meet my prisoner?" Spike suggested tolerantly

Drusilla smiled.

-.-.-

The monkey wore a little red hat and a little red vest, and he sat at the table with Spike, Drusilla, and the Slayer's mother, who were all drinking tea, or at least a dark liquid in teacups. It looked suspiciously red. The monkey was spilling the liquid all over the table.

"No no, Eglantine, drink your good blood," Drusilla said to the monkey. "You need your strength."

The Slayer's mother had a dazed look in her eyes.

"...and the way she does that form, the one with the double staffs-" Spike sighed. "I could watch her all night."

The Slayer's mother shuddered. Dru tried to force blood down the monkey's throat. The monkey screamed.

"My Slayer," Spike rhapsodized. "She's a good one. Glad I saved her. She deserves to die in a fair fight with a vampire."

The Slayer's mother said something sharp in Chinese.

"What, it's a compliment," Spike said. "If all the Slayers are like your daughter, it's no wonder they're feared the world over. She's good. I'm better, and I'm going to kill her, but I admire your daughter. It'll be worth something, killing her. Won't it Dru?"

The Slayer's mother hung her head in despair.

"You need to drink your good blood too," Drusilla said to the Slayer's mother.

The Slayer's mother didn't move. Drusilla picked up the teacup and held it up to the Slayer's mother's mouth, tipping the blood in. Now the woman struggled, spitting out the blood while Drusilla kept pouring more.

"You call this torture?" Darla said from the doorway. "I call it a waste of good blood. I hope you're planning to clean up after yourselves."

"Yes, grandmother," Drusilla said meekly.

"The Slayer's looking for you," Darla said to Spike. "You too," she said to the Slayer's mother. A tear formed in the corner of the mother's eye.

"Got to heal, don't I?" Spike said shortly.

"Excuses, excuses," Darla said with a brittle laugh.

"The way you behave around Angelus, I thought you loved excuses. Like bloody newlyweds, you are," Spike said. "Don't see what's in front of-"

"That's none of your concern," Darla snapped. "Just take care you keep the Slayer out of our business."

"Yes, great-grandmother," Spike said.

-.-.-

The note was in English, in the perfect calligraphy that Spike could call upon from his heritage as that bloody wanker William.

_I've got your mum. She's not a vampire yet. If you don't meet me at the temple, she will be, and it will be your fault._

She might have to find someone to translate, but Spike knew she'd come.


	4. Chapter 4  Interlude

Sunnydale, 2018

"Oh Spike, it's beautiful."

Spike dropped into a defensive crouch as he turned, then relaxed when he saw who was behind him.

"It's a great bloody hole in the ground, Dru," he said, turning his back to her. Moonlight shadowed his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard she died," Drusilla said, drifting closer to murmur her words in Spike's ear.

"Come to gloat?" Spike asked bitterly. "Twenty-two years as the Slayer, faces down vampires and demons and the end of the world, and then one day some vampire has one good day, and it's all over. Can't say I didn't warn her."

"Slayers die, Spike. They're made of human weaknesses."

"And human strengths!"

"She could have lived to be ninety-four and died of old age...or violence." Drusilla mimed a blow to Spike's face and smiled a reminiscent smile. "She'd still be dead. Dead as a butterfly that someone forgot to water."

"Go away, Dru," Spike said, waving the bottle in his hand at her. "Before you make me angry. I could kill you, you know."

"Don't you love me, Spike?"

"With all my heart," Spike said, his words accelerating toward rage. "Go away."

"You loved her with all your soul," Drusilla whispered, stepping back.

"Yes, I did." He bit the words off.

Wordless, Drusilla retreated as if pushed, then drifted along the edge of the crater, the great gaping hole in the ground where Sunnydale had once been. No longer a raw rip in the ground, erosion had softened it and plants had overgrown it, making the crater appear to be a natural part of the landscape. The only exception was the exact place Spike had chosen as his lookout point; the ground was rocky at the edge of a cliff falling fifty feet straight down. Dru flitted from rock to rock at the very edge of the cliff.

"Oh, come back, Dru," Spike shouted after the third time she just barely avoiding falling in. Drusilla skipped back and leaned against Spike. He sighed and put his arm around her and took a swig from his bottle. Then another. They looked at the crater in silence for a while.

"Your grave is burgeoning with life," she said.

"Now there's some kind of irony," Spike said. "She had a grave down there, and she didn't stay in it either."

"Don't be sad, Spike. She's in a better place."

Spike threw Drusilla to the ground. "You don't know anything, you soulless bitch," he shouted.

"Ooooooo," Drusilla said, more pleased than otherwise. She looked up appealingly. "Hurt me again, Spike."

Spike kicked at the ground near her and then threw his bottle as hard as he could. It arced across the sky and shattered somewhere in the leafy greenness. He fell to his knees and bowed his head. Sobs shook his shoulders. Tears spotted the dusty ground in front of him.

An elegant finger caught one tear in mid-air. Drusilla brought her finger to her lips and her tongue flicked out, engulfing the tear. She repeated the gesture patiently, over and over again, until she'd captured twenty or thirty tears and Spike quit crying.

"It tastes like lemonade," she said. "Salty lemonade. _Bad_ lemonade."

"Shut up, Dru," Spike said dully.

"Human weaknesses," Drusilla observed. "You're full of prickles. You're full of light. You have a rose bush growing inside of you and someone cut off all blossoms and now it's just thorns. They're cutting your soul."

"They're cutting my heart, Dru. That's where love lives, in the heart, and mine's bleeding."

Drusilla looked at his chest.

"No, you can't drink from my heart, it's a bloody metaphor. I'm leaving. She's not here, I don't feel any closer to her," Spike said. "You can do whatever you want, just quit looking into me. I'm not bleeding for your amusement."

"I'm coming with you," Drusilla said.

"The hell you are."

"Poor Spike. You're weak, I'll take care of you. I've always taken care of you when you need me. You can't stop me now."

"Try to follow and you'll find out just how weak I am," Spike said dangerously.

"I'll kill your enemies. I'll never be naughty."

"Won't work, Dru." He started walking toward a black car in the weeds.

Drusilla paced after him. "There's blood on the ashes. You taste like blood. And the Slayer's dead. I've been very patient, Spike."

"I'm different now. I have a soul."

"I have a rosebush growing in me too, and you're cutting off all the blossoms. You're raking the thorns across my heart."

Spike stopped walking. His face when he turned was tender. Almost weak. "It won't work, Dru," he said gently. "I tried, I know."

"You're hurting me, Spike," Drusilla said, leaning in close to him. "Hurt me more. Give me prickles. I want to be full of prickles, I want to be full of light."

Spike's jaw dropped.

"Tell me how you got your soul."


	5. Chapter 5

New York, 1976

"Pack your bags, I've got a Slayer on my tail," Spike called as he flung open the door of the hotel room. The room was dark, except for a light in the bathroom. "Dru?"

From somewhere in the darkness, Drusilla laughed knowingly. "Have you come to play with us, Spike? We're playing violation in the nunnery, and I'm winning. I only cried once. He cried the whole time, which wasn't very sporting of him."

"Some other time, love," Spike said, feeling around for the light switch. "No time for playing right now—" The light illuminated Drusilla, fully dressed on the king sized bed, on top of a naked young man with soft blond hair and classically handsome features. Dru had captured his gaze; he stared at her and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "You've got a new toy," Spike said appreciatively. "Where you'd get him?"

"He's not a toy," Drusilla said. "He's a disappointment. I wanted to help him, but he won't let me."

"...all my sins remembered..." the young man muttered fretfully.

Dru put her hand over his mouth.

"Sounds like just your type," Spike said.

Her nails drew blood from his cheeks. "He had a fire in him, glowing and glistening, but the flames are dying and I can't make them grow."

"A shame, pet, but you know we've always been better at death," Spike said. "I'll get rid of him while you pack." He looked around, and his gaze fell on the curtained window. "Come on, you," he said, grabbing the man by the ankle and pulling.

As soon as his head moved and the connection with Dru broke, the man exploded into action, catching Spike by surprise. The blow sent him reeling back; he crashed into the TV. It only took him a second to recover from the surprise, but by then there was a sword pointing at his neck.

"Spike!" Drusilla said, throwing herself between the two men. "Hamlet! Be nice to your brother."

"_What?_" Spike narrowed his eyes, and then pushed Dru aside, the sword aside - not even sharp - and thrust his face and his vampire's snarl right up against the young man's face. The young man bared his fangs, his forehead bumpy and his eyes yellow, the vampire in him rising up in response to the challenge.

"Go away for a week and you never know what you're going to come back to," Spike muttered. "You're not my brother," he told the young man fiercely, pushing him back onto the bed, snatching the prop sword from his hand and breaking it over his knee. "You're pathetic."

He turned to Dru, fury in every line of his body.

"What _is _this?"

"I was lonely," Drusilla said sadly. "Don't you like him? He's our family."

"I wasn't enough for you?" A hundred years worth of devastation in those words.

"I wanted something blue," Drusilla said simply.

"I can wear blue," Spike snarled. Hamlet wriggled across the bed, his eyes on the door. Dru turned but Spike was there before her. He punched Hamlet; Hamlet's head jerked back and he fell sprawling across the bed. "You stay out of this."

"His heart is blue," Drusilla said reproachfully.

"I don't care," Spike said. He punched the intruder again, knocking him off the bed, then kicked him in the gut and grabbed the bed. Muscles straining - it was a king sized bed - Spike lifted the bed and then before the mattress could fall off he flipped it and brought it down upside down on top of the intruder. Only one naked leg protruded. It kicked feebly and then was still.

Drusilla clapped. "Just like a real family again," she said.

Spike growled.

* * *

><p>"Stepchild," Spike said. He was carrying Hamlet - now dressed all in black - over his shoulder through the streets; Drusilla carried the luggage.<p>

"You can't choose your family, Spike," Drusilla said. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that? He's your little baby brother, because I'm your mummy and I chose him."

"I said he can be family," Spike grumbled. "But he's not my brother. He's not equal with me, and he never will be. Stepchild."

"He killed his last step-father," Drusilla said. "I saw it happen."

"I'd just like to see him kill me," Spike said derisively. "This lump." He poked Hamlet in the side, but the other vampire was completely out. He didn't even twitch.

"He killed his uncle and his mother and all his friends too," Drusilla said dreamily. "And the girl who loved him."

"Turn here," Spike said, guiding Drusilla through the crowded intersection. He bared his teeth and growled at a man who tried to step into their personal space, and laughed at the expression on the man's face. "Anyone can kill," he told Dru. "Not everyone has the killer instinct. Does he love it? Does he seek it out? Does he bathe in the blood of his enemies? Because that's what you deserve. Someone who can-"

"See how he shimmers?" Drusilla said dreamily. "He's really very gentle. Like a poisonous flower. So sweet and innocent, and then everyone is dead, and he's mine."

Spike stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and threw Hamlet onto the ground. The New York crowd walked around the fallen vampire, their steps quick and their gazes averted. "He's a poet, isn't he?" Spike said. "A pansy poet who was looking for someone to love. Is that it? It's not enough to be the center of my world, you need someone else. Is that it?"

"I wanted someone all my own," Drusilla said. "Someone who would never leave me cold and alone with only the stars for company. Someone who didn't care more about killing than about me."

"But you love killing," Spike said, deeply hurt and then furiously angry. "Someone you can control? Am I too much for you? All I want to do is take care of you, and give you everything you want, everything you deserve."

"The stars told me that someday you will leave me, and I believed them. But Hamlet will always be mad for his mummy, for as long as he'd dead but not dust." She bent and kissed Hamlet on the forehead, then giggled like the young girl she resembled. With vampire strength she gripped Hamlet by the arms and slung him over her shoulder. She walked briskly away, leaving the luggage behind.

Spike picked up the luggage and rushed after Drusilla. "Bollocks. The stars are wrong, you know I'd never leave you," he said. "I'm as mad as any crazy poet boy, and all for you, my dainty wicked rose."

"I have to look out for myself, Spike, when you're gone. I don't want to be _alone._"

"You can't have him," Spike said desperately. "I won't let you. You'll never know a moments rest until he's dust."

"Then I'll have _him_," Drusilla said, pointing at a street musician. "Or him." A man in a suit with a purple tie glittering with rhinestones.

"Not _him_," Spike said, revulsed. He pointed at a man sitting on the side of the street with a sign that read 'Will Cuss Out Your Mother-in-Law For A Quarter.' "How about him?"

"He doesn't glow," Dru said.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Spike said angrily. He stopped; Dru kept going, and he watched her with narrowed eyes. Without any warning, he threw Dru's suitcase at her head. Dru staggered and Hamlet flopped out of her grip.

"Ow," Hamlet moaned.

"Spike!" Drusilla scolded.

"I'm serious too," Spike shouted, dropping the other suitcase and breaking into a run. He snatched up Hamlet as he passed, leaving Drusilla lie. "Deadly serious," he called over his shoulder. "Say goodbye to poor Hamlet."

He could hear Drusilla's footsteps behind him, weaving in between the footsteps and heartbeats of the living, but he didn't look back. Then a knot of people carrying a water-bed got in his way, and before he could figure out whether to go over, under, or around, he felt a tugging from behind. Drusilla had hold of Hamlet's feet.

Spike grabbed Hamlet's arms before Dru could pull him away entirely, and they both pulled.

"Shiiiiiiiit, that hurts," Hamlet whined.

"You stay out of this," Spike said automatically, reinforcing it with an elbow to the blabbing mouth. "This is between me and Dru."

"Naughty, naughty, Spike," Drusilla said. "Hurting your little brother. Almost as wicked as your mummy."

Hamlet's right shoulder popped out of its socket, and he screamed.

"You stay out-" Hamlet squirmed desperately, and Spike lost his hold on Hamlet's arms. Hamlet screamed again as his right arm impacted the ground just before his head.

"Shut up," Spike growled, kicking Hamlet. "She's mine, you stay out of it. She's always been mine. I've always been hers." He wasn't prepared for Dru's tackle.

"Get a room," a passerby complained a few minutes later. Confronted with two vampiric snarls, he retreated precipitously.

"Step-son it is, then," Spike said after another few minutes. "But I'm telling you now, I won't have any step-son of _mine_ screaming whenever he gets hurt. He's got a lot to learn."

They got up and rearranged their clothes. Dru helped a reeling Hamlet to his feet.

"To take arms against a sea of troubles..." Hamlet muttered.

* * *

><p>"How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses-"<p>

Spike punched him.

"O that this too too solid flesh-"

Spike kicked him.

"I'll speak to it though Hell itself should gape and bid me hold my-"

Spike hooked his leg around Hamlet's leg and brought him crashing to the ground.

"This might be hard for you," he said, standing over the prone vampire. "But the time for words is when you're winning and want to gloat, not when-"

Hamlet kicked out. Spike took it with barely a pause. "Not when you're one mistake away from being beaten into a bloody pulp. Now get up."

Hamlet levered himself to his knees. "I'll make a warrior of you yet!" Spike said. "Up!"

"To hell with you," Hamlet snarled, and leapt at Spike, fists swinging.

"That's more like it," Spike said, and slammed Hamlet into the wall with one well placed punch. Knockout.

Drusilla came up beside him and the two of them linked arms and looked down at her vulnerable offspring. Spike mused, "I wonder if Angelus felt like this when he looked at me."

* * *

><p>Only a single candle lit their daytime hiding place, a dead end subway tunnel lined with sleeping bags - forty or fifty of them - and the scattered possessions of the squatters who'd been here before. All either fled or dead, leaving the three vampires in possession.<p>

Hamlet rested with his head on Drusilla's lap. Drusilla sang to him.

"Hush sweet prince and close your eyes

Do not breath, go to sleep."

Hamlet murmured something about demons singing him to his rest.

"Silent heart and silent mouth

Not a peep, go to sleep."

In the pause between verses, Spike sat down next to Drusilla and put his around around her.

"In your dreams fair maidens drown

Poison kills the weak who weep."

Drusilla rested her head on Spike's shoulder, her voice fading as she reached the end of her song.

"Hush sweet prince, the wall of sleep

Fall on you, all fall down."

"Who is he really?" Spike asked quietly.

"I am Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," Hamlet said, his voice blurry. Drusilla nodded and hummed another soft musical phrase. Hamlet's eyes closed.

"I know your games, he's not the bloody Prince of Denmark," Spike said in Drusilla's ear. "So where'd you find him?"

"His life passed before my eyes," Drusilla said. "And then he died and I saved him."

Spike laughed. "You went to a play?" he interpreted.

"He was a hero," Drusilla said. "And so misunderstood."

"He was a bloody actor," Spike said. "Ambitious with a streak of stubborn in him. I can see it, under the wishy-washy. I like him."

"I see his potential," Drusilla said. "That's why I want him. He'll be exactly what I want."

"You're really doing a number on him," Spike agreed. He laughed. "Better him than me. _Hamlet!_"

Hamlet murmured sleepily, something about whips; Dru hummed a line of melody and he subsided.

"You're changing him too," Drusilla said to Spike. "But I don't mind. He's your baby brother too, we're family." She smiled, showing her teeth. "Family devours."

"That's right, Dru, I'll be his Gandalf," Spike said. "Between you and me, he'll never know who he really is."

* * *

><p>"Awake, awake!" Hamlet shouted, standing in the middle of the tunnel with his chest thrust out like a trumpeter. "The night approaches, and the hunt comes."<p>

Spike tumbled into motion, but there was no one there - no one to attack but Hamlet. "Shut up," Spike growled, cuffing him across the face. "What's _wrong _with you?"

"I dream of demons and wake to nothing else," Hamlet said.

Dru sat up and smiled proudly. "The angels are weeping and gnashing their teeth," she said. "And I am the mother of princes."

"Frailty, thy name is-"

Spike cuffed him again. "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," he snapped. "Show some respect to your mother."

Drusilla giggled. Spike looked surprised, then looked down at himself - all rebel all the time, his style proclaimed - and when he looked back at Dru he was grinning a very young and almost abashed grin. Drusilla held out her hand and he pulled her up into his arms. "What are you making me?" he murmured into her ear. "Step-father?"

"I'll have it not," Hamlet said. They both ignored him.

"Wear it like a helmet, and let it speak," Drusilla said.

Spike laughed. "No, someone has to be comprehensible around here," he said. "And it's not you, pet, now is it?"

"Honeying and making love over the nasty sty-" Hamlet said loudly. "I'll have it not in my sight."

"Shut up," Spike said, but he was distracted.

"Mmmm," Drusilla said. "My valiant little boy..." Suddenly, she pulled away from Spike, her face showing alarm. "Spike, we have to go. She's coming."

"Who's coming?"

"Your Slayer, she's coming."

"And you don't think we three can take her?" Spike said.

Drusilla froze. "But she's your Slayer," she said sadly. "The Slayers are always yours, they're the only thing that touches you. And you touch them."

"Let's try this family thing instead," Spike said. "I've got to see how my step-son stacks up."

Drusilla's smile was fierce like a storm. "Spike, oh Spike, it'll be just like the old days."

* * *

><p>"If it isn't the Chosen One," Spike said. He stood, apparently alone, in the middle of a sea of sleeping bags. "Hello, love. Come to dance?"<p>

Nikki Wood gave the squat a comprehensive once-over with a few piercing glances. She shifted her grip on her stake and stepped forward. Her step was light and her jaw was tight.

"Not much for conversation, are you?" Spike said.

"Just get this over with, vampire," Nikki said.

"Right, you're a 'You vampire, me Slayer' type," Spike said. "I hope your fighting's better than your conversation, or this is going to be boring."

Nikki didn't waste her breath answering; she dived into a somersault that took her across the sleeping bags and come up within Spike's guard. Her stake arced through the air, and would have found a home in Spike's chest but Drusilla grabbed Nikki from behind, white fingers digging in to bushy black hair. The stake barely grazed Spike's bare arm.

"Not boring," Spike admitted.

Nikki tore free of Drusilla at the cost of a hunk of hair with some scalp mixed in. The scent of blood energized all three vampires, even Hamlet, hidden behind an incongruous coat-rack. Spike could smell his excitement. "First blood to the vampires," Spike said. "Come on Slayer, you can do better than that."

Nikki backed up a step. Spike and Dru advanced in tandem, and they barely had to glance at each other to time their attacks. Nikki ducked and twisted and emerged unscathed, sliding across a sleeping bag like it was home plate and coming to rest right next to Hamlet.

Hamlet quivered in his hiding place, but he didn't attack. A second passed, everyone frozen in place, then Dru shrieked wordlessly at Hamlet, infuriated by his hesitation. Hamlet didn't even look in her direction.

Nikki pulled out a crossbow and aimed it at Dru in one fluid motion. Spike moved. Hamlet did nothing. The crossbow went off.

The crossbow bolt quivered to rest in Spike's left arm, in a direct line for Drusilla's heart if Spike hadn't blocked it. Drusilla pushed past Spike, intent on Hamlet, as Spike pulled the bolt out of his arm and advanced on the Slayer.

No smug taunts now, he had had his teeth and he had a pointy stake that could hurt humans as easily as vampires, and that was all he needed. They traded blows, evenly matched, each of them keeping the other fully occupied. Spike almost forgot about Drusilla and Hamlet, falling into the rhythm of the fight, giving and receiving pain. It was good.

"Look at that," Nikki said suddenly. "Evil kills itself." She sounded so genuinely pleased she actually managed to distract Spike. He glanced toward the other side of the room for a second - Hamlet was screaming something about Hyperion and a satyr in Dru's face, and Dru had a stake in her hand.

"Serves him right," Spike said, and blocked Nikki's kick with time to spare, but had to whip away when his weak arm almost let through the follow up punch. The wound from the crossbow bolt was starting to throb.

The next time he glanced back at the other side of the room, Dru had subdued Hamlet with her stern gaze, and she was giving him her stake-

"No!" Spike shouted. "Don't do it-"

Hamlet held the stake like it was a banana, no threat to anyone.

"She's the one you want to kill," Drusilla crooned. "Kill her and drink her blood. It's better than anything you've ever dreamed of..."

Hamlet stumbled forward, Nikki punched Spike so hard he went flying across the room and then she turned to face the younger vampire. She was all confidence, he was all hesitation.

Drusilla came to stand next to Spike. "See how he shimmers?"

Spike laughed shakily, getting up and brushing himself off. "No, that's all you, pet," he said. "Young Hamlet is just about to find out what it feels like to turn into dust."

"No, he's going to-"

Hamlet ran.

Drusilla shrieked and took off after him, graceful in motion and quickly gone, leaving Spike with a weak arm and a spinning head and a Slayer on the loose. The Slayer laughed. "Someone's going to die today, and it's not going to be me," she said.

"Wrong," Spike said, and then that was the last thing he said for a while. The Slayer put him on the defensive, and kept him there. This wasn't a dance, it was the prelude to a slaughter, and Spike was fighting just to stay alive.

It ended when the Slayer got a good kick in. As Spike stumbled back, she leapt, knocking him over and landing on top of him, breaking a few ribs with her thick boots.

Spike looked, and he saw death in her face.

She raised her stake...

It never came down. Drusilla plucked the stake from the Slayer's hand. Nikki rolled away quickly, and scrambled to her feet, her gaze seeking out another stake. Coat-rack? Wooden crate? Dru danced after her, light on her toes. Spike groaned.

The two women, Slayer and vampire, came together in a blur of motion that was almost impossible to follow, and when they parted Nikki was cradling a broken arm and Drusilla was limping, her dress in shreds and her leg not much better off.

All three of them looked at each other, not one of them in a position to attack.

"If I see you again, you die," Nikki said, moving toward the tunnel out with the deliberate care of the injured.

"Or you do," Spike said. He coughed. "I'll track you down, Slayer. We have a dance to finish."

* * *

><p>"I always look after you," Drusilla said, wrapping a bandage around Spike's rib cage.<p>

"Except when you don't," Spike said, even toned and philosophical. "What'd you do to Hamlet?"

"I lost him," Dru said mournfully. "I'll have to find another one."

"Not if you want to keep looking after me," Spike said. "No more children."


	6. Chapter 6 Interlude 2

**Author's note:** This chapter (and the rest of this fic) is entirely AU with respect to all comics, including the official Buffy Seasons 8 and 9 comics.

-.-.-.-

Greece, 2019

Spike moved quickly and silently through the abandoned villa, senses straining for any hint of an intruder. The rooms were dark, musty, and-

"Do I still call you Daddy?"

Jilly, left in the entryway with strict orders not to move, spoke in an intent whisper. From two rooms away, Spike heard her as clearly as if he was standing next to her.

He was back at her side in a flash, silent and protective, his face snarling defiance at shadows. When he was sure there was nothing there, he turned his beastly scowl on the child. "You know better than that," he breathed.

Jilly's whisper was fit for the stage. "But you're a vampire, I _know_ you can- Oh." Jilly's eyes flared wide. "Oops?" she mouthed, voiceless, and then covered her mouth with both hands to prove she wouldn't do it again.

"Stay here, and don't move a muscle," Spike ordered, so quiet he could barely hear himself.

Jilly didn't even nod, but her eyes moved in acknowledgement. Spike reluctantly left her side and quickly sifted through the decaying rooms of the villa, main floor, then down into the cellar, up through the second floor and then the attic. Dust puffed upward with every step.

The rooms were all completely empty, just dust and a massive wardrobe in the bedroom on the main floor. He knocked it over, checked behind. Up in the attic, there was a stack of boxes hiding in a corner; he knocked those over too - no time to play nice with Jilly waiting below. Ancient papers and knick-knacks cascaded across the floor. He breathed in the scent of dust and mildew and age, and nothing more dangerous.

"Olly olly in come free," he finally shouted.

He'd expected her to come bounding up the stairs like a racehorse, but he made it to the head of the stairs and found her still standing in the entryway below. "Come on up, kitten," he called. She moved reluctantly, so he kept talking. She needed a bit of encouragement.

"Got your pick of rooms up here, nice big rooms, except the last one, I don't want you walking on that floor, it's rotten. Tell me which of the rest you want and we'll clean it up," he said. "We're going to be here a while...here, you want this?" He held out a bright knick-knack he'd picked up in the attic - a toy soldier, paint a little faded.

Jilly slid past his offering like she didn't notice it, gaining momentum as she peeked into the rooms. By the fifth, her honey blond pigtails bounced like the beam of her flashlight, here there and everywhere. She fell back to the first room, examined the boarded up window. "I want this one. Can I have the window open?"

Spike considered the dangers of sunlight, the dangers of making a change that could be seen from the outside, but only for a moment. She wanted something, he wanted to please her. "You can have one board off, but only one. Top or bottom, pet?"

"Bottom," Jilly said, folding her arms expectantly.

It was the work of a second; the board splintered and fell into the bushes below. Jilly was instantly in the gap, leaning out and then squirming further out, until she was half out and still squirming. Spike grabbed her ankle and pulled her back. She let him pull, sliding back in with a flower from the vines outside clutched tightly in her hand.

"Keep that up, and I'll have the window boarded up again before you can say 'I'm sorry,'" Spike said, half annoyed, half amused. "What's got into you?"

Jilly pouted. "Mommy would have let me."

Spike's face slammed shut like a bank vault. "Jillian Joyce Summers," he snapped, grabbing her hands and thrusting his face right next to hers. In a low, dangerous voice, he said, "What'd I tell you about lying?"

Jilly never flinched. "But it's true!" she said, kicking herself up and forward into a complicated somersaulting movement that ended with her hands free, dashing for the door. Spike could have caught her, but he couldn't hold her forever, so he let her go. "And Uncle Xander would have let me too!" Jilly threw back from the doorway. "_And_ Aunt Willow."

"Would not," Spike said, not sure how it had come to this. Arguing with a child. With this child.

"Would too." Jilly crossed her arms and glared up at Spike.

"Jilly, come back here," he said, not exactly making an order of it. His mistake.

Jilly shook her head and headed off down the hall. "Which room's yours?"

"Jilly." The snap of the words brought Jilly back to the doorway, sulky and frowning. "Listen up, kitten, this is important. You're not with Aunt Willow or Uncle Xander. Got to pay attention to _me_ now. Got to lay low, keep safe."

"But Daaaa-" Jilly stopped abruptly, and reminded Spike that he'd never answered her question.

He stepped toward her, holding out his hand. "You can call me Daddy. Your mom and I, before she died...doesn't change anything between me and you. Doesn't have to."

Jilly's expression was impossible for Spike to decipher. It had been too long since he'd had any practice. Two years was forever at this age. "Jilly? Do you want to call me Daddy?"

Jilly nodded, then shook her head. "You made me- Mommy cry. You _left_."

"Yeah, I did, but I was gonna come back. Your mum and me, we just parted ways for a while, things to do, but it wasn't gonna be forever. We were still _together_." Jilly looked unconvinced; Spike sighed and put a finger under her chin, teased her into looking up at him. "I did come back. I came back for you, kitten."

Jilly frowned mightily at Spike. "I'm not supposed to be with you," she complained. "Mommy left me with Uncle Xander. I thought you were going to take me back."

"Buffy-" Spike turned away, paced toward the window and then back. "Here's the thing, pet. Your mum might have been upset with me, but she's the one who made me your Dad, so since she's- not around, it's up to me to take care of you. Especially now. Uncle Xander couldn't protect you."

Jilly looked down.

"Uncle Xander isn't up to fighting the Demon War on his own, none of that lot was up to what's after you, but you're with me now. I mean it, Jilly, you've got to forget everything they told you, forget them completely. Could be your life. If anything happens, you think about what _I _told you to do, not Uncle Xander or any of that lot. Got that?"

Jilly shook her head stubbornly. "I _love_ Uncle Xander. He's been my Daddy more than you, you weren't there...I _can't_ forget him."

Spike's hands had clenched into fists. He forced them open, forced his tone to stay even. "Jilly, you know- We talked about this, lovelet. I'm a bloody vampire. When it was me and Buffy together, that was one thing, but you needed someone human."

"I still do. I want to go home."

"Too bad, it's not safe there." He was being too harsh, but he'd taken Jilly for granted, and now...it wasn't just memories of Buffy that Buffy's daughter called up. Staggered by the loss of Buffy, he'd let Jilly slip away. His daughter. Buffy had made them a family, and he'd let family slip away. "Listen to me, sweetling, everything's going to be okay. Just trust me."

Jilly lifted her eyes and now that he could read her he wished he couldn't. There was love for him there, love twisted by disappointment and reproach, by his absence the last couple of years, and there was that painful kind of hope he knew too well. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him, but she couldn't, because most of all, there was grief, a hole where her mum should have been, that she was still looking for something - someone - to fill.

But _Spike_ couldn't fill that hole, Jilly's eyes told him. He couldn't even come close.

"God, what more can I do for you?" Spike shouted, goaded by her silent judgment.

Jilly looked at the floor, her eyes filling with tears.

Spike wrapped his arms around her, but she stayed stiff and turned her head away, crying silently.

-.-.-.-

Over the next week, as they settled in, Jilly was quieter than he remembered. She hardly smiled, not even when he brought her furniture and pictures and rugs, carrying it on his back from miles away to fill their house with color. He roved further, brought her delicacies, toys, books, an antique telly. She nodded and kept wishing for something he couldn't give her.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Jilly asked one morning.

"Can't tell you that, sweetling," Spike said, lounging at the kitchen table with a plate of runny scrambled eggs and blood. "You want any more eggs? Blood is optional, we've got milk."

Jilly wrinkled her nose. "Good stuff," Spike continued. "Eat it up and get strong..." He lifted his plate and tilted the rest of his eggs into his mouth. "We're gonna be here until it's safe to go back, or it's not safe to stay here, one or the other. I've been in touch with your Uncle Rupert, and he says the demons that are after your are from your dad's hellish home dimension, but we still don't know why..."

Jilly crossed her arms. "Really? My real dad?" she said. Just like most of the things she deigned to say, it wasn't overtly sulky, but there was something lurking underneath, and Spike couldn't quite read it. It irked the hell out of him.

"Yeah, pet, your mostly normal, mostly human dad from outer Demonia. That's the one. Left you a nice legacy of demons, good of him, wasn't-"

"Shut up about my dad!" Jilly shouted. "At least he-"

"Make-"

"Loved-"

"-me," they finished together. Spike took a deep breath. Jilly turned her glare to the picture of a butterfly hanging over the sink, and Spike felt his heart sink. One thrilling moment of real Jilly, but now she was retreating again, sinking that real feeling below still waters.

"When'd you get the idea that I-"

"At least he didn't mean to leave me," she said quietly. "Like Mommy."

"I told you, pet-"

"Just shut up."

Spike wanted to take her and shake her until her brains unscrambled, but the way he felt he'd probably end up with scrambled brains and blood-

"Did you leave Mommy because of me?" Jilly asked.

"Bloody _hell_." Spike stood up and threw his plate against the wall.

Jilly didn't flinch; her eyes sparkled, and in that moment Spike understood her. She'd wanted that reaction, hell, maybe she wanted this fight. Maybe she finally trusted him enough to let her feelings show. To be a child with all her emotions at the fore, giving the adult the chance to make it right.

"Do you love me? Even though I'm not yours?"

"You are mine," Spike said fiercely. "Couldn't be more mine if I was alive and squirting sperm like a fire-hose-"

"Mommy always said-"

"She said I was your dad. That doesn't change. We're family, love, and you're not getting rid of me."

They glared at each other, and he'd never have believed a kid like her could withstand his glare, but she did. Then Jilly smiled and Spike started laughing. It was that or shake her. "I do love you, kitten," he said.

"Good," Jilly said.

Spike noticed what she didn't say.

"Daddy? Do you want to play soldiers with me?"

Maybe it would come.

-.-.-.-

"Did you ever see my real daddy fight?" Jilly asked a few days later.

He didn't have the answer she was looking for. "Never set eyes on the bloke, kitten. What's it to you?"

"Mommy told me stories, she wanted me to remember him but I couldn't. I don't remember anything but what she said. And now-"

Spike spoke quickly. "You and me both, lovelet. Your mum and me were on the outs just about then, and then he died, but he was no coward, that much I know. Your mum'd never love a coward, and everyone said they were perfect for each other. And he was human, mostly, even if he was from some demon dimension." His voice started to rise. "But they don't tell me everything, even Buffy thought I'd be too jealous if I knew the whole story. Probably right. I hated the-"

Abruptly remembering who he was talking to, he backpedaled quickly. "I was jealous, I wanted your mum to myself. You know?"

"Because you loved her," Jilly said confidently.

"I did at that. Loved her, wanted her, needed her-" He took in Jilly's dubious expression and hurried on. "Middle of the very worst of the bloody Demon War, she didn't have time for anything but Slayers. Thousands of Slayers where there used to be one, or at most two. Surprise! Who would have thought that all those Slayers would run out of vampires and demons around here? Who'd have thought they'd refuse to stop?"

"It was their job. And then they went through the portals and hellmouths to find more," Jilly said. She knew her Slayer history. "That's how mommy met my real daddy."

"Not the only thing they found, kitten. Go looking for trouble, you'll always find it. We all thought we were saving the universe, finally, and we weren't ready when things got complicated. Your mum and I had a lot of arguments around then. She had her priorities, she wasn't going to stand for demon refugees from the mess we'd stirred up ending up on Earth, and if that meant stirring up more messes in more dimensions, then that's what she'd do. She knew how to make tough decisions, but I was in love with the whole universe. Idealistic, that's me when you dig down deep enough." Spike sighed reminiscently. "Never did learn, did I? Oh, the fights we had!"

Jilly's expression was sour. "But- You _said_ you and Mommy loved each other! And I know you did. You _always_ loved each other."

Spike's expression softened immediately. "That's right, kitlet. But we were younger then." He paused, remembering how final things had seemed when he and Buffy parted ways back then. Not as final as now, when he'd been a fool _again_, heart open too wide, off taking risks and fighting a doomed fight in a dimension far way while Buffy stayed on Earth, where it was supposed to be safe. At least back then- "It's a good thing she went off and found your dad, innit? We couldn't do without you. Not like I was gonna give her a child."

"But- If my real Daddy hadn't died, what would you have done? Would you have come back?"

Spike sighed. "I don't know, pet."

"Would you have fought him?"

"I'll tell you this much, I was damned jealous of the ba- bloke. You'll understand jealous someday, pet. When someone gives the woman you love exactly what you'd never be able to give her, when this bloke's just like her, human and demon in a way that's practically the same as her Slayer powers, when there's a whole dimension of people like him, people with just a little demon in them, just enough... When he can offer her bloody normal, not to mention her very first diplomatic triumph, Earth's first allies in the Demon Wars-" He shook his head. "Don't fret, pet. Just remember that I loved your mum, and I love you, and that's all that matters. Sometimes love's letting someone...be what they need to be. With or without you."

"I think you would have come back," Jilly said.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I talk a better game than I play, don't I, love? Come in with fists-"

"And you'd be my Uncle Spike."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that's the ticket. Good ol' Uncle Spike to the rescue."

"And we'd all live happily ever after."

"Only because I love you so much, pet."

"Do you really love me?"

It burned like acid that she'd ask, even if the smugness in her question proved she didn't really doubt. She was just looking for reassurance, and he couldn't disappoint her. "More than anything, kitten. You're the only thing in this world that I care about anymore." It was hard to go on, but he forced the words out. "Not just because you remind me of your mum. Not just because I held you when you were a squalling babe. I love you like I've never loved anyone else, because you're Jillian Joyce Summers, the one and only, and you're bloody amazing just like you are. Got that?"

Jilly's Mona Lisa smile was all the reward he needed, but it faded too quickly. Jilly opened her mouth, then looked down. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

Jilly looked at Spike and bit her lip, her teeth worrying it for a good five seconds before she admitted "I miss Mommy too."

A human would have found Jilly too big and awkwardly heavy, but Spike had no trouble at all snatching her up. He held her close, both arms wrapped tightly around her, and she made a tiny noise and nestled her head against his chest.

"It's okay to miss her," Spike said in a harsh whisper.

The tableau held for almost a minute, and then Jilly moved and Spike set her down.

"I love you, Daddy," Jilly whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

London, 1902

She places the hank of blonde hair on a chipped plate, covering the painted red strawberries. Once this was someone's best china; Drusilla rescued it from a dusty corner, cleaned it as best she could, and saved it. Now she slides the plate and the hair out into the stripe of sunlight that crosses the grubby floor. The painted berries glow brilliant red, brighter than blood. A fearful color. And then a flash of flame spontaneously erupts from the hair, an even brighter red.

As the hair burns, she closes her eyes and breaths in the smoke. Soon she begins to hear voices, not the comforting voices of familiar darkness, but harsh crow caws, the uninhibited sounds of sunlight.

_...yes, you can...leave it alone...you just might...a century...honey, that's...a grandma and a grandpa...sent down...well played, sir, well played!...invite Janet...in the ear...I should...pure silk..._

Voices, chattering and clattering like women at a garden party, men at a racetrack, people in the street as the sunlight pours down. Endless voices, but the ones she's listening for are silent.

_-.-.-_

The night they arrived in London, while Darla was eating the carter and Spike was carting in the baggage - he'd lost to Darla at cards _again_ - Drusilla crept away when no one was looking, down the creaking stairs to the cellar. Darkness pounced, engulfing her in its comforting purity. She heard the rats squeaking and hissing, their dry claws clicking on dry stone.

She lay down flat on her back, her arms and legs spread in invitation, her smile sweeter than the gentle cold that rose from the floor. Darkness seeped in through her wide open eyes, through the pores of her skin, curling like smoke, drifting like raindrops.

"I brought you something," she whispered. "I need your help."

Time passed.

The Beast with Teeth growled, somewhere neither near nor far away. A rat ran across her bare arm, claws like crooked pins prickling her skin. Quick as thought, she snatched it up. She could feel its fluttering heartbeat against the sensitive pads of her fingers. She squeezed.

Blood splattered on her dress, over her stomach.

"For you," she whispered, setting the dead rat atop the blood. Her voice was as flimsy as tissue paper.

The Beast growled again, closer.

She draped a single blonde hair across the rat's neck. "Eat," she said.

The Beast with Teeth appeared in front of her, teeth gleaming and snapping. Drusilla sighed in satisfaction. "Eat her dreams. Don't let her-"

The door above opened; gaslight spilled across the stairs, effortlessly piercing dark's soft velvet curtain. Dru whimpered curled around the Beast, hiding it from the light. Sharp teeth dug into her belly.

"Thought you might be down there. Come upstairs, pet, Darla's brought dinner."

The Beast with Teeth was inside her now.

"Don't know what's bothering you, but you need to eat."

"Eat her dreams," Drusilla said.

"That's right, pet."

_-.-.-_

"I need you," she says. Her voice is rough; the smoke is still thick in her lungs. "I know you're there. You can't hide from me, I'm the one who saved you and kept you and held you tight."

_...the '92...thinks he can grow...moved to...scarlet..._

She reaches into the sunlight. Pain will draw them. They know pain.

_...getting married...pretty...badger...the depths of your...we want...give us...more...sunlight...scintillating...not enough...more...we want...you want...we won't let you...you're so selfish, Dru_

She screams; the voices shatter like glass.

He comes running like he always does. "Shh, there's nothing there, pet. Shh."

-.-.-

The little girl had a big yellow bow in her hair, a tremble on the tip of lips, and Darla's smooth white hand gripping her shoulder, keeping her from running. When Drusilla appeared, dainty and delicate and covered in blood, she squeaked like a mouse in a trap.

Darla's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Rat? I hope you haven't been drinking that."

Drusilla swayed gently, her hand cradling her belly. "I have something inside of me, but it's not blood."

Darla let that one go. "It will be. Now that we're all here, the party can begin." She turned her smile on the little girl, kneeling down in front of her. The girl shrank back against the faded Victorian wallpaper. Darla said something else, but Drusilla was listening to the sound of a tinkling piano in the next flat over.

"Kiss her," the Beast with Teeth said, in a sibilant voice that only she could hear.

Darla pinched the girl's cheeks cruelly to make the blood rise. "There, that's better, isn't it?" She rose, graceful as a swan, and patted Spike on the arm. "It's my party, and-"

Drusilla drifted forward and the air parted in front of her like lace curtains. One chord from the distant piano reverberated, the same chord drawn out like time itself was drawn out as she placed her lips over Darla's. The Beast with Teeth bit down, and Drusilla tasted blood.

Darla slapped Drusilla so hard she slammed into the massive dining room table and moved it a foot. The yellow-ribboned girl followed, a rag doll in the air, her breath coming in shocked gulps and gasps as she fetched up against Drusilla's bloodstained skirt.

"And this has been a long time coming," Darla said grimly, twisting a curl back into place and crossing to the china closet, flinging the door open to reveal a man and a woman squished in together like bread dough being kneaded.

The little girl's breath was so fast and shallow she was going to faint. That was no fun. Drusilla forced the little girl to look at her, forced her breathe.

"So let's celebrate!" Darla smiled boldly. "You've got yours, Dru, a wide-eyed innocent-"

"She has no dreams," the Beast with Teeth whispered. "I cannot eat what doesn't exist. You must find someone else to help you."

"-he's a real _fighter_ snatched off his soapbox in Speaker's Corner. Make sure you ask him to recite before you eat him, he's quite good. And for me-"

"Let me guess. Tall, dumb, and dapper," Spike said, eying the hulk of a man. "Just like you like them."

"Poor grandmother," Drusilla said. "Why are you leaving if you have no dreams?"

-.-.-

He holds her, soothes her, tells her lies.

"Just voices, love. They can't hurt you."

_...scintillating...we want...never too late...vibrant air...close and safe and we want...safe...hold tightly...not enough...never let go..._

She can feel the dessicated air on her skin. She can hear the drone of the bees and the birds singing in the garden.

"They can hurt me, but I won't let them. I'll never let them."

"That's right, pet. You'll show them."

"I give them everything they could want. Friends and enemies, men and women and children to play with in the garden. I give them flowers and streets and rivers and they're never satisfied. They always want more."

"Ungrateful bints."

"No, they're not, not at all. They're upset with me for keeping them inside. Spike, look inside me...can you see them? They're brighter than the sun. I'm irradiated with them."

"No love, all I see is darkness. You've got enough shadows to drown in."

-.-.-

"You always spoil my little surprises," Darla said, seriously displeased.

"Leaving? We just bloody got here," Spike grumbled, pulling his lanky, disoriented dinner out of the cupboard.

Darla raised both eyebrows high, flags signaling that disappointment and disapproval were in residence. "Just got here and already I'm-"

"Mmm. Just look at her. Delectable." The Beast with Teeth shook its head and spittle flew. Snapping and snorting, it bit free of Drusilla and burrowed into her little girl instead. "This one has dreams," it growled. "Big dreams that will never ever come true. She reminds me of-"

The little girl whimpered.

"No, no, no! She's mine!" Drusilla shouted, pulling the little girl to her breast. She growled and gnashed her pointy teeth until the Beast slunk away. "Mine," Drusilla repeated.

Darla and Spike were looking at her. "Poor dear Drusilla," Darla said. "I give you half a year at most-"

"Don't worry about Dru, she's got me," Spike said belligerently.

"Sorry, grandmother," Drusilla said. She watched Darla like Darla was one of the stars in the sky, eternal, unchanging and worthy. Finally Darla sighed and started talking again.

Drusilla leaned forward until her lips touched the little girl's ear and whispered softly, "You're mine." She dug her fingernails into the girls arm until the girl whimpered again. "Mine. All your dreams and all your memories..."

"-which is why I'm leaving, and you're not," Darla concluded. "It's a wonder I stayed with the pair of you as long as I did," she added. She sank her teeth into her meal.

"I'll drink to that," Spike said, his face shifting. "We don't need you." His own meal didn't even struggle.

The iron tang of blood filled the air, but Drusilla needed more. Capturing the little girl's eyes, she stole what she needed. Memories of daylight, dreams of a future. She stole thoughts and hopes and fears and greedy passions, tucking them away. Gifts. For them.

When there was nothing left, when the deepest darkness inside of Drusilla uncurled and swallowed all the daylight memories, when even the starlight failed and the fragrant roses smelled like blood and pulsing volcanic heat filled her with desire, she knew that she was a beast too. She hid her darkness behind a smile, and her smile behind a mask of blood.

-.-.-

She stares into the dwindling fire, the thread of smoke on a plate of charred strawberries. Her voice is thread of sound, descending into the depths. "O my very dearest ones, my most beloved ones, I will always love you. Why don't you love me as I love you? Why don't you understand?"

The air vibrates against her skin. It's almost an answer.

"Dru?"

"Shh," Drusilla says, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me, Spike, I'm going to ask her for a favor."

"Who?"

"The Girl Who Dwells in Sunlight. And her sister, the Girl Who Laughs."

-.-.-

Drusilla set aside her yellow-ribboned meal and sidled up to Spike. She licked a drop of blood off the corner of his lips, distracting him. "Make her stay, Spike," she breathed in his ear. "Make her stay. Don't let her leave us. We're a family, and family never leaves."

Spike pushed away his meal and pulled her into an embrace. "Is that the way you want it, love? Shall we keep her as a pet?"

"Yes, Spike, yes."

"If you want it, it's sodding _done_, princess."

United, they turned toward Darla, yellow-eyed and snarling. She's ready for them in an instant, smooth and elegant and poised even with a beast looking out of her eyes.

"Don't go, grandmother."

"Don't go, great-grandmother," Spike said, mocking and menacing.

Darla threw back her head and laughed. "_You_ think you can take me? Children, you've got a lot to learn."

They took a step forward in tandem, but on the next step Spike stumbled, and the next he fell.

"Spike!" Drusilla said, tugging him up. The next step, she fell on top of him.

"Two can play this game of anticipation," Darla said complacently. "I drugged your meals. And just for fun, the police will be coming in a couple of hours, in search of a missing little girl. But I'm sure you'll be able to deal with that, won't you?"

She drained her dapper meal while Spike and Drusilla struggled. Drusilla could hear, she could feel, she could taste anger on her tongue, but her movements were jerky and unbalanced. Beneath her, Spike lay completely unmoving, just a dead body.

After Darla had carted all her baggage back out to the cart, she tripped daintily back into the dining room and knelt down beside them, a half smile on her face.

"If you're smart, you can survive. If you're not, you don't deserve to."

Drusilla jerked into motion, her arm swinging up to hit Darla on the side of her head. She closed her hand into a fist, and when Darla's punch sent her spinning back, she pulled out a chunk of Darla's hair. Darla didn't notice.

"It's my little challenge for you. Call it a going away present," she said. "A little something to remember me by."

She left without looking back.

-.-.-

The Girl Who Dwells in Sunlight has neat blonde curls and a steady gaze that sees everything. She keeps a sketchbook with her at all times. Anyone would swear that the people she draws are alive, and might leap off the page at any second. The Girl Who Dwells in Sunlight knows more secrets than Drusilla knows, and she never tells Drusilla any of them. Her dress is red; the blood dripping from her throat barely shows against it.

The Girl Who Laughs wears a dress the color of the sky; it shows the blood stains clearly, and also the grass stains from enthusiastic picnicking, and the wine stains from drinking too deep. The Girl Who Laughs has merry blue eyes and smooth brown hair. Her cheeks are red like roses. Long ago, she was in love with a brown-eyed boy, or so she said, but it might have been a green-eyed boy or a blue-eyed boy. She flirted with them all. Drusilla thinks she was in love with love. When she wrinkles her nose and giggles like the world is ending, Drusilla thinks she still is.

Drusilla takes good care of them both. She feeds them memories of days and skies and boys and gardens, innocent memories from innocents she's killed. She sings them songs and holds their hands and keeps them safe and innocent. Forever.

They're very ungrateful. They never say thank you.

-.-.-

They fell down the stairs and into the welcoming darkness of the cellar.

"We'll be safe here," Drusilla said. The darkness whispered promises.

"No, we won't," Spike grumbled. While Drusilla let the darkness caress all her aches, Spike scrabbled in the dirt until his fingers bled, laboriously digging a hole big enough for two dead bodies. He slipped and scrambled and bellowed his frustration with his unresponsive body, but he never gave up. When the hole was deep enough, he covered Dru with a thin layer of dirt, and then lay down beside her and covered himself.

The chill froze her in place. She knew the peace of the dead, lying in the darkness, her stillness as graceful as a dancer's. But fever took Spike, and he lay in savage seething silence while the police clomped all over the house. When they finally left, he sprung from the grave and stumbled and fell and leapt up again. He pulled her up too.

"They'll be back," Spike said. "We've got to go."

"But Spike...Darla."

"She's gone, Dru."

"No, she's not."

-.-.-

"I won't let her go," Drusilla says. She's left the grubby room behind. Now she's in a garden, sitting in the shade of a tall leafy tree, breathing smoky air. The Girl Who Dwells in Sunlight sits beside her, listening with a solemn face. The Girl Who Laughs sits on her other side, bouncing impatiently.

"No one ever leaves me. I'm the earth and you're the air, you can't get away. I've got a hold on you. And I love you and hold you and keep you safe forever."

"You're so selfish, Dru. You only think about yourself. What about what we want?"

"What do you _want_?" Her voice cracks with impatience. In all the world, only they can make Drusilla so frustrated.

"We want..." The Girl Who Dwells in Sunlight hesitates, contemplating a vast sea of desires.

"We want more," The Girl Who Laughs bursts out. "Dru, dear, you know what we want."

"I've given you everything. Can't you help me?"

"We want the sun." The two girls speak with one voice. "Only the sun can keep us safe and make us happy."

Drusilla hesitates, then lifts up her hands in surrender. "I'll give you the sun, harsh and ugly and bright." She pauses, regains her serenity. "Because I love you."

-.-.-

He dragged her from one dusty room to another, each abandoned house an empty desolation. Only a colorful button or a chipped plate in a corner said that these places had once been inhabited by people who lived and laughed in the sunlight. Sometimes there were ghosts, lingering with their heads in their hands, but they were gray ghosts with no bright memories she could steal.

"They've got our trail, but we're gonna have the last laugh," Spike said. They ate policemen every meal, and still more policemen came.

Then one night they escaped, down the river and across the channel in a little fishing boat. As the sky brightened from black to silvery gray, they rushed across a rocky beach to an abandoned hut. They'd sheltered here before. It was full of cracks and crevices, full of light and full of shadows, but it was safe enough.

As sunlight crept in through the cracks in the walls, Spike pulled a blanket over him and fell asleep.

Drusilla had two things in her pockets. She had a coil of blonde hair, pulled from Darla's head in that last unfair fight, and a small plate with red strawberries painted on it, scavenged from one of the many abandoned houses. The strawberries gleamed like cherished memories.

She placed the hank of blonde hair on the chipped plate, covering the painted red strawberries, and slid the plate and the hair out into the stripe of sunlight that crossed the grubby floor.

-.-.-

Sunlight. Intense, coruscating, desiccating, deadly. An acrimonious neighbor, arid and keen-edged. Drusilla remembers day in all its horrific glory; the painstakingly collected memories scorch her. Darkness withers. Drusilla wilts. She squints and shivers and hides her face.

The Girl Who Dwells in Sunlight and The Girl Who Laughs hug her. "The light keeps us safe," they tell her. "We love you," they tell her. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you."

Then they walk into the blinding sunlight and disappear. There's so much light Drusilla can see red through her eyelids. She waits patiently, watching the red dazzles dance in her eyelids.

She trusts them to return. They promised, and after all, they are her sisters. Sisters might squabble, but in the end, they always take care of each other.

Suddenly, without warning, they grab her hands, one on either side, and pull her to her feet. When she opens her eyes, the sun has set. Gentle twilight gray illuminates Darla standing in front of her. The smell of smoke has vanished.

"I don't understand. Where am I?" Darla says.

"You're here with me, grandmother," Drusilla says. "Just where you ought to be. You're safe."

"What nonsense, Dru, I've never been safe," Darla says. "Who wants safety when they can have-"

"I don't care what you want," Drusilla interrupts, ever so gently. "I'm a princess. I'm a princess and I always get what I want."

"Dru-"

"No one can stop me and no one ever leaves me, not for good. I've got you now, and someday... but it doesn't matter so long as I've got you. Forever. You're mine. You're _all_ mine." She squeezes her sisters' hands. Lucretia and Paulina...and Mother and Uncle Titus. Angelus, who thought he could take her family. Angelus who thought he could leave her. And finally Darla. All her family, all safe. Nothing can hurt them. Nothing can pull them from her and leave her alone and afraid.

She opens her eyes wider, until she can see Spike too. "I'm never afraid," she tells him. "No one ever leaves me for good."


End file.
